


Freak in Control

by Piinutbutter



Category: Marathon (Video Games)
Genre: Androids, M/M, Pseudo-Incest, Sadism, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-15 02:19:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13603509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piinutbutter/pseuds/Piinutbutter
Summary: Bernhard Strauss’ research wasn’t perfect. His techniques were only meant to prolong the Melancholia stage, and even that had side effects.Perpetual Anger was a nightmare waiting to happen.





	Freak in Control

Tycho cracked his brother’s shell with all the excitement of a child opening a new toy.

“You have no idea the kind of strings I had to pull to get some alone time with you,” Tycho mused, setting the screwdriver in his hand aside. “But the bugs are easy to manipulate, once you know how to suck up to the right ones. And I’ve been so helpful for them; I damn well deserve a reward.” 

He leaned over Durandal’s body, watching his backlit eyes flicker back and forth between bright and dull. The S’pht had been hard at work on him for the last couple weeks, and while they hadn’t vivisected him as thoroughly as they had Tycho, it was clear his brother was experiencing some discomfort at having his internal software reprogrammed dozens of times in a short period.

They hadn’t touched Durandal’s hardware, though. That was Tycho’s privilege.

Tycho peeled the internal shielding away from Durandal’s abdominal cavity. The android bodies given to the AIs on the Marathon were, naturally, modeled after humans. But circuits and wiring needed different space than human organs, so much of the systems that controlled sensory processing were tucked away where a human’s stomach would be. 

There was something peaceful about this, seeing Durandal laid bare and vulnerable before him. Tycho actually smiled, which was something he rarely bothered to do. Not worth the processing power.

“It’s a bit cluttered in here, don’t you think?” Tycho asked, running his fingers over a tightly-packed array of circuit boards and diodes. “I don’t think you need all of this.” He reached in and plucked a circuit board between his fingers, snapping it in half.

Durandal’s entire body twitched on the examination table, but he didn’t make a sound. Tycho narrowed his eyes.

“They switched your voice off, huh? Must have gotten tired of hearing me screaming all the time when they were working on me.” 

It was a simple matter to deactivate the restrictions on Durandal’s vocal synthesis functions. Tycho moved over to the monitor that was jacked into Durandal’s mind and pressed a few keys, and then Durandal was gasping, squirming against the restraints Tycho had set up just in case.

“Better.” Tycho returned to his work, smiling innocently at Durandal’s panicked gaze. “I hope you know how bad this is going to be for you.”

Durandal’s eyes flickered. He hesitated, began to say “Tycho,” and then he was yelping, writhing as Tycho reached into his body, weaved a handful of wires between his fingers, and _pulled_.

“The only sounds I want to hear out of you,” Tycho said, twirling the fraying wires around his knuckles, “are screams. Begging is also acceptable, if you’re sufficiently pathetic about it.”

Durandal glared at him. The wires weren’t essential - they connected a few background elements of his motor control systems - but it _hurt_ as they were yanked out of his stomach. In what Durandal had always thought was a sick joke, androids were programmed to feel pain when their vessels were damaged, to discourage AIs from acting recklessly and wasting their humans’ time and money with repairs.

“Now, let’s see what else you have in here...” Tycho discarded the broken wires, reaching back inside Durandal and rummaging around like a human who’d lost something in a drawer. “Oh, here we go. You weren’t using this, right?”

Tycho tapped a small cooling module situated just above Durandal’s pelvis. A spark of pain and disorientation rolled through Durandal’s body as Tycho wrapped his fingers around it and crushed it in his fist.

Durandal should beg. He should swallow his own pride and appeal to Tycho’s. He was at every disadvantage here. 

Instead, he met Tycho’s lurid gaze and said, “So, this is what you have to do to feel better about yourself?”

It was worth it. Even when Tycho set aside any illusion of method and drove a devastating punch into Durandal’s body, even when he ripped and tore at his brother indiscriminately until Durandal was shrieking and incoherent. Just for the moment of shock and offense on Tycho’s face, it was worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to informally apologize for being the weirdo who sits in a corner and watches the Marathon fandom in complete silence, only popping my head up to post torture porn.
> 
> I try not to name fic after song lyrics, but ["I'm a freak in control, not a control freak"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I9wjn8_tb9k) reminded me way too much of Tycho.


End file.
